


Kinktober: Stucky

by doggonefunny



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Blood, Blowjobs, Boot Worship, Bottom Steve Rogers, Cock Warming, Cuckolding, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Edging, Face-Sitting, Frotting, Gun Kink, Leather Kink, Lingerie, M/M, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Period-Typical Homophobia, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Sadism, Somnophilia, Spanking, Top Bucky Barnes, Uniform Kink, Voyeurism, don't read if you're gonna get offended by era typical terms preferred by the lgbtq of that time, period-typical terms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doggonefunny/pseuds/doggonefunny
Summary: Kicking off Kinktober with one of my favourite ships. Mostly 1930s/40s based drabbles. I heavily research the era and if you're not prepared for era-typical terminology preferred by the LGBTQ+ at the time, please don't read it. I don't have the intention to continue these one-shot drabbles and form a full fic, though if there is any interest in them, I may consider it.No beta, we die like men.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	1. Day One: Spanking.

**Author's Note:**

> Steve Rogers and James "Bucky" Barnes belongs to the creators + Marvel, and I take no ownership over the characters.
> 
> A collection of works this Kinktober, will be updated daily (or at least, that's the plan). All one-shots, though may consider continuing them for a full fic if there is interest. If I miss any tags/you find something that should be tagged while reading through, please don't hesitate to let me know. I think I got all the basics covered, but I'm only human.

The first time it happens, it’s all for a good laugh.

Steve had been invited out by Bucky and one of the boys in the same apartment complex, and for once the stubborn, slender boy had agreed. But he didn’t know exactly what he’d been agreeing to until they were whooping and hollering along the train tracks; Steve with hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders pressed up toward his ears -- he got into shenanigans as much as the next guy, but with his record, it was probably not the best idea to get into some trouble with the law or get into a fight. Not that the boy really anticipated a fight tonight, but Bucky’s friend was sort of getting on his nerves and Steve thought maybe he’d pick one just for the Hell of it.

His thoughts get interrupted by a firm smack on his rear end.

Steve blanches, jaw falling open as he whips around to stare at Bucky, who had stepped far too close into his personal bubble. Bucky’s friend guffawed behind him, slapping his knee as though it had been the funniest thing he’d seen since the latest Charlie Chaplin film. Bucky’s grinning like a right fool, head tilted with a cheeky glint in his eyes that caused Steve to double-take, even while trying to avoid eye contact. “The Hell was that for, Buck?”

The older boy bounces back playfully, just out of reach of Steve’s lazy slap toward him to get him away. An answer doesn’t come right away, as Bucky is too busy throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulders while they both giggle away. Steve scowls, one hand reaching behind himself to rub gently at the sore spot on his ass -- but the soreness recedes to something much more enjoyable and just as equally confusing. Steve doesn’t wait for an answer much longer; merely scoffs and rolls his eyes, turning away from them to continue walking the tracks.

The second time it happens, it’s rougher and less coordinated.

The sun is beginning to set and they’d been singing silly songs to one another on their walk back, having booted a bit of whiskey from some older boys at the dockyard. Even Steve was chuckling along and singing quietly under his breath. It wasn’t long before they reached familiar alleyways, and they were soon parting ways; Bucky adamant on walking Steve home because he was nervous the blond would pick a fight with a raccoon or something the moment he was alone. Steve liked to remind Bucky that he knew the way home -- they  _ lived _ together now, for crying out loud. But Bucky wasn’t comfortable leaving his best pal alone in this neighbourhood, despite their new adulthood. Steve still looked like a child, and this neighbourhood was …  _ unsavory. _

They fall into a comfortable silence; Bucky dancing over cracks in the sidewalk and Steve stumbling off the curb while trying to balance -- they pass the last of the whiskey bottle between them, Bucky tossing it away without looking when it was finished. They both wince at the sound of shattering glass before bursting into giggles, Bucky grabbing the slighter boy’s hand to drag them both down the street in a run. Steve can’t run for long; he’s unbalanced and the alcohol does little to help his fatigue, so when they slow down to lean against warm bricks, catch their breath, Steve takes this opportunity to bring up something that’s been nagging at his mind.

“Buck,” Steve allows his panting to slow, even out, before he continues. “What were you guys laughin’ about earlier? When you smacked my ass.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to flush a little, though he continues to grin with a charm that Steve knows only Bucky Barnes harbors. They could blame it on the alcohol, but Bucky is right enough in the head to realize that maybe he’d found that earlier act a little more fun than he’d bargained for. “Tom said ya looked like a dame from the back.” he snorts a laugh, though Steve doesn’t find it very funny at all. “Ya got a lil’ sway in your step when ya walk, Stevie.”

“It’s my--!” Steve’s on the defense right away, arms thrown up in irritation. He’s stubborn and defensive as a standard rule, but while tipsy? Tenfold. “Buck, you  _ know _ I got balance issues. You  _ know _ my scoliosis can--”

“Alright, alright pal. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Steve gawks, staring at his friend stupidly for a moment before he finally comes back to himself. Knits his brow and coughs an irritated huff. Whirls around and begins walking back toward their shared apartment. He can hear Bucky bark a clipped laugh behind him before catching up, and though Steve thinks they’ll fall into another silence and simply go home, he feels another smack to his rear -- this one rough and open palmed in comparison to the tap he’d received earlier that day. There’s even a little bit of a squeeze to it, and Steve stumbles off balance with the force of it, Bucky reaching out to grab the smaller boy’s arm to steady him. 

When Steve is pulled back, Bucky doesn’t simply let him go so they can continue walking -- he guides his friend to the right, crowding him against the bricks again and pressing into Steve’s personal space. One hand is still gripping Steve’s arm with enough force to feel, but not enough to bring any pain; the other is stretched out beside Steve’s head, palm flat against the bricks as Bucky shifts his stance into something more comfortable -- cocky, almost. Steve’s fight or flight would normally be fight, but this turns into  _ freeze _ . He stares up at his friend with fearful, confused baby blues. The stinging he feels on his rear is …  _ delightful _ … and the fear and anxiety pumping through him is pumping promptly  _ southward _ …

“Buck, you’re actin’ awful queer right now.”

A pointed, wide-eyed stare over Bucky’s shoulder to indicate this wasn’t the time nor was it the place to be fooling around like this. They’d always been touchy-feely, and they’d held hands, and they slept together in the same bed - sometimes even waking up tangled up in one another - but Bucky had never openly treated him like  _ this _ . Like he was a dame at the dance hall, pressed up against the wall giggling away at whatever filth Bucky was whispering into her ear. And he does lean forward, despite Steve’s mediocre protest before -- and the blond can  _ feel _ Bucky’s grin as he leaves only a couple inches between them, outstretched arm now bent at the elbow to bracket himself against the wall. “So, what? Who’s gonna care ‘round here?”

And that much was true. This neighbourhood was well known for being the queer part of the city. But that didn’t make Steve feel any better about Bucky’s assumptions of him -- he couldn’t give a damn less about what  _ Tom _ thought. Tom was going to think what he thought regardless of what Steve said, but there was a slight pang of hurt to know that Bucky merely played into the idea instead of defending him. Wouldn’t be the first time Bucky had called him a girl, but this was somebody else calling him a girl. And that just wouldn’t really do. Steve shifts himself, though in arching his back he accidentally brushes his hips against Bucky’s and the older boy huffs a breath; shuts his eyes, and draws his smug grin into a tight-lipped line.

“Well, I ain’t a fairy.” Steve rebukes, pressing his back tight against the bricks to save himself the embarrassment of pressing up against his friend again -- especially with the small, err …  _ issue _ that was attempting to arise at this altercation.

“Did I  _ call _ you a fairy, pal?”

“Tom said I looked like a  _ girl _ and you played along with it, by what … smacking my ass? Buck, you don’t even do that with  _ real _ dames.”

“Nah,” Bucky finally leans back and away, the sultry expression that had begun to cloud his features melting back into a playful grin. The kind of look Steve was used to. The one he adored, but there was something truly incandescent about the way Bucky had been looking at him just a moment before. It was a look Steve wanted to see again, but was too shy to ask for. How would he even ask for it, anyhow? ‘ _ Hey, Bucky? I kinda like the way you treat me like a penny whore. Smack my ass and hold me against a wall again?’ _ “‘Cause I don’t think ya look like a girl, Stevie. More like … lil’ bit like a  _ pansy _ , but not a girl.”

Not likely.

“Ain’t a pansy either, Buck.”

But they both know better because Steve’s ears burn red and Bucky distances himself a little that night when they crawl into bed together.

The third time it happens, it’s because Steve is being bratty.

For good reason, let him tell you!

Bucky was still half-asleep, propped up in bed by his elbows as he watched Steve pace the bedroom. Steve was wide awake this morning, having been jolted up by a roll of Bucky’s hips against him and a quiet moan against his neck. It wasn’t that Steve  _ didn’t like _ when this happened. Half the time, he pretended to be asleep when it happened.  _ Allowed _ it to happen. Allowed Bucky to rut against him in the early mornings before he woke up properly and shooed Steve out in order to relieve himself. But this morning was different. Maybe Bucky still had a little alcohol in his system from the night before, but Steve had had trouble sleeping all night due to his confusion and frustration.

He  _ wasn’t _ a fairy. Not that he had anything against them. Men who transitioned into women and vice versa were not  _ uncommon _ , especially in this neighbourhood, and it was actually a bit of celebrity status until these past few years. Pansies were in the same boat -- limp-wristed, feminine men that portrayed themselves as sassy and stubborn and dramatic were all the rage in films for a few years. They were entertaining at parties and to have in social circles … until they  _ weren’t _ and were forced to separate and move underground. To hide from police, lest they be treated horribly and quite possibly arrested. Just for living. Just for existing and being who they are. Steve was not a  _ pansy _ , but there was a very high possibility that he was  _ queer _ , and it had been an unsettling bit of information between the two boys for years.

Steve hadn’t come clean to Bucky yet, but his best friend knew him inside and out; he tended to know things about Steve before Steve even knew them, so of  _ course, _ Bucky would know he was queer.

“Why ya gotta do stuff like that, Buck?”

“Like  _ what? _ ” He almost sounds offended, but it’s the disorientation of being shouted at first thing in the morning when all that’s really on his mind is how he’s going to fix his morning wood situation.

“Like …  _ that! _ Like …” Steve waves a hand toward his friend, not shy about motioning toward the tenting of his briefs. “We can’t do this anymore, Bucky. We’re grown men. Folks already think I’m queer, and--”

“But you are.”

Record scratch. Cue Steve gawking again, with jaw slack and bugged-out eyes. Bucky merely yawns with boredom, stretching his arms up and tilting his head to get the kinks out. Steve is  _ accosted _ . He can’t believe those words have come out of his best pal’s mouth, but all he can do is stand there awkwardly as Bucky shifts to sit on the edge of the bed, bare feet planted on the cool wood flooring.

“I’m … You don’t …” But he’s at a loss for words, truly. He can’t  _ lie _ to Bucky. He’s done so in the past, but he hates doing it and always ends up coming clean sooner or later. Bucky truly looks bored, and Steve can’t decide whether he wants to deck him in the face or hurry out of the apartment and go for a long walk. “So, what if I am? What if I  _ am _ a pansy?”

“Y’kinda look like one, but ya ain’t girly enough.”

“‘Cept from behind?”

“Yeah. Now get over here and talk to me like a  _ grown man _ instead of a child havin’ a hissy fit.”

Steve glowers at that, features scrunching up even if he had been the one to start the one-sided argument. The blond begins pacing again, and Bucky was sure the boy would wear a dent into the floorboards at this rate.

“Ain’t a  _ fairy _ , Bucky.”

“Ain’t call you one.”

“Tom did.”

“Tom said ya looked like a  _ dame _ , not a  _ fairy. _ ”

“What’s the fuckin’ difference, Bucky?”

And that happened to be the last straw, as Bucky reached out for his friend to grab him by a dainty wrist. It happens to fast, Steve’s breath is punched out of him when he’s thrown over Bucky’s lap face down, hand scrabbling to grab purchase of the sheets on the bed and knees pulling up so he can right himself and slap Bucky silly -- but the smack that comes down hard on his clothed rear has Steve barking out, freezing up in an awkward position as though uncertain he wants to continue trying to escape. The sting barely manages to dull before Bucky’s bringing his hand down again, the muffled smack causing Steve to huff sharply and bite his lip to stop a relieved groan when the pain subsides.

“Watch your Goddamn language, Steven.”

As if Bucky had any room to talk right now, using the Lord’s name. Steve opens his mouth to protest, but Bucky simply reels back; brings his hand down hard again with an open palm and a slight grunt with the force. Steve finally does groan out at the contact, dropping his face into his crossed arms to hide his shame and the rosy pink flared down his cheeks, neck, and chest.

“You’re actin’ like a big baby today. What’s gotten into ya, huh? Spoiled lil’ brat is what you’re actin’ like.”

“Fuck off.”

Another smack; harder this time. It’s impossible for Steve to deny the pleasure coming from this -- both the defiant nature of his comebacks and the stinging sensation that spread across his lower back and straight to his dick. There was no hiding the straining in his briefs as much as there was no hiding the hardened length against his stomach as well. Whether Bucky was still just hard from waking up, or hard because of establishing the roles they played in their friendship, Steve couldn’t tell. But the more he grumbled and shifted in Bucky’s lap, the harder the smacks came until Bucky had finally had enough and ripped the blond’s briefs down his legs with a frustrated growl.

The next smack echoes in their small bedroom and Steve didn’t think he could blush any harder. Another smack, harder this time, has Steve finally  _ moaning _ , and Bucky makes a noise of accomplishment above him. That’s what he’d been looking for. Steve takes note that Bucky is enjoying this as much, if not more than he is … it’s both horribly irritating and extremely sexy all in one confusing go; however, Steve finds that he’s leaning into the open-palmed smacks now. The pain is great, but the pleasure is greater, and the boy has a difficult time biting back the whimpering sounds that escape with each solid smack. He thinks all words have been spoken until Bucky pauses to inspect his work, palm smoothing over the smarted flesh of Steve’s ass while he leans down with a pleased, heaved sigh.

“Shit, Stevie. Your ass looks so pretty, all red, and marked up like that. Wish I could show ya off … like art.”

Steve sucks in a breath, shaking his head with a whispy retort: “This is why you’re a better boxer than ya are a painter. Y’wouldn’t know art if it bit ya in the--”

Two smacks in rapid succession, a growl accompanying each one. Bucky wasn’t holding back now, as though the comment reminded him that he was indeed a boxer. That he had power behind his hands and throws that Steve did not. “You’re never gonna learn, are ya?”

The tone is mocking, though instead of playful Bucky’s voice is a deep baritone within his chest. Steve has heard that tone a few times in his life when accidentally interrupting Bucky making out with some girl at the dance hall or in the alley. It causes his heart to palpitate, but he opts out of telling Bucky about this one -- he doesn’t want this to end, whatever  _ this _ was, and he feared Bucky would want to take care of him instead of …  _ take care of him. _ Steve finally relents, and Bucky groans quietly, pleased that his pal is finally letting go and allowing Bucky to reprimand him without struggle. Because that’s all this was, right? A reprimand … a punishment for talking poorly about himself.

“I smacked your ass yesterday,” Bucky emphasizes his words with a sharp slap, Steve knowing full well that a welt was going to bloom there. “Cause ya have a nice ass. Not ‘cause I think it looks like a girl's ass.”

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“But--”

Smack.

“Steve, you’re gonna listen for once in your stubborn life. I don’t know what I am or where I stand,” Smack. Smooth … a gentle bend at the waist to place a chaste kiss to Steve’s tailbone. “In terms of …  _ that. _ But I  _ know _ you. You’re my best pal. And I know when you’re horny, and when you’re mad. Sometimes it’s kinda the same but …”

Steve groans at the comment, rolling his eyes but finding it hard to keep focus or listen as Bucky speaks. Not only does he press himself back into each rough smack, but he’s found the perfect position to grind down against Bucky’s thigh  _ after _ each smack. The older boy leans back at the contact, inhaling slowly and holding his breath as though to keep himself in check.

“You were turned on after the first smack, even if I did it just for show. But … y’know, I wanted to see it again.” Bucky has relented on the blows for now, merely tapping and smoothing over the red, welted skin slowly as he speaks. He even shifts his leg to encourage Steve to grind down more. A growl -- a deepening of his voice again. Steve all but  _ whimpers _ into the sheets of the bed. “So, I did it again.”

Steve doesn’t know what tips him over the edge; Bucky’s growl against the small of his back or the final couple blows that land on his ass and upper thighs, but he’s actually  _ biting _ the sheets with a shout. It does little to drown out Bucky’s words of praise and encouragement, the boy’s free hand petting through Steve’s hair while he comes down and comes back to himself. Bucky is patient like he always is. Not that he’s had to wait through Steve’s orgasms, but he was patient like he was through asthma attacks and his fatigue -- which coincidentally washes over the boy in a great wave when he finally sits up and winces against the pain as he eases onto the edge of the bed.

Bucky’s still hard, but he bats Steve’s hands away as they move with a mind of their own toward the tenting in his friend’s briefs. A warning glance at the blond, and Steve  _ does _ listen; takes heed. He leans back against the pillows with a huff and a wince and a groan and Bucky can’t help himself from snorting a laugh, tilting his head to admire the red that spilled over onto thighs and jutted hips. The blush would die down, but the welts would stay a while. “I’m gonna make coffee, get dressed, then make a store run. Alright?”

Steve stares, brows creasing after a moment. Why’d he wanna run off so quick? This was embarrassing … he’d made a mess of Bucky’s lap and was exhausted, had come out to his best friend inadvertently, and couldn’t even reciprocate! “What ya need at the store.”

“Petroleum jelly.” A skeptical stare from Steve is matched with the most lascivious smirk Steve has ever seen Bucky wear. “I ain’t finished with you yet.”

“ _ Queer. _ ” Steve snips, and Bucky can’t help but throw his head back to laugh as he makes his way out of the room.


	2. Day Two: Voyeurism / Orgasm Denial.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No beta, it's 1:42am and I can't be assed to proofread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit late, but work is a bitch and tuckers me out. I'm writing prompts for other fandoms as well, so my free time is basically being filled with lots of smut and whump, which really ... is no waste of my time in the least. Day 3 will come properly later today after I've slept and done my adulting for the day.
> 
> Enjoy!

They’ve been fooling around for some time now. Neither boy is particularly interested in knowing when the line was crossed from friendship to something more, but it was important to note that the line  _ had _ been crossed ... which was  _ fine _ because they had both promised to be there for each other until the end of it no matter what that may bring.

“I was gonna ask for help with supper, but I see you’re a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

The voice from the doorway startles Steve, and he’s caught in a pretty provocative position. With one hand tangled in his hair and the other wrapped loosely around his dick, it was a pretty sight for Bucky to come home to but it was tremendously embarrassing for Steve. The boy is frozen, like a bunny staring down it’s impending doom with a predator stalking toward it. Bucky pauses next to the bed with a smirk, head tilted and hands on his hips as though he’s playfully waiting for a response from Steve that he  _ knows _ won’t come as anything but a few stuttered excuses and an embarrassed whine. 

“Bucky, I just-- I was …”

Told you.

Steve shifts uncomfortably under Bucky’s gaze, removing his hand from his dick, and the older boy simply smiles wider; lips peeling back to show off a perfectly lascivious grin. “I didn’t say you could stop, pal.”

Steve chuckles nervously, reaching for himself again before pausing. Tilting his head. Quirking a brow as if to silently question whether Bucky was serious or simply joshing him around.

“I didn’t say you could stop.”

The tone is far more authoritative now, and Steve’s blush blooms across his nose and cheeks, spreading further down along his neck and branching off onto his slim chest. Steve groans softly at the statement, wrapping slender fingers around himself again loosely to continue his strokes, though hesitantly so as he’s just  _ horribly _ bashful now and can’t avoid Bucky’s stern gaze if he tried. Bucky had been commanding before, and Steve rather endearingly deemed it his “drill sergeant” voice, but this was something of a rarity. Bucky generally took over for him … he hadn’t before told Steve to continue on his own.

The older boy seats himself on the edge of the bed slowly, eyes never leaving the other’s thin frame as Steve finally sets a rhythm, albeit poorly. It’s the embarrassment that causes him to stroke slowly and unevenly, but it’s the intense stare of Bucky’s bright blues that make him inhale a stuttered gasp. Speed up his strokes and follow through with the order made. And Bucky doesn’t once take his eyes off his friend; merely situates himself more comfortably on the bed with one leg tucked underneath him. His features are stern; concentrated. Like he was listening to an intense sports program on the radio and not watching Steve jerk himself off. 

It was almost endearing how attentive Bucky was if it weren’t for the intense eye contact and the threat of a snarl on the older boy’s lips. All traces of playfulness and silliness gone the moment Steve attempted to disobey. Not that they realized their dynamic as anything other than … whatever it  _ was _ to them. But Steve had always had a hard time saying ‘no’ to Bucky when he presented himself this way, and Bucky had a hard time resisting Steve whenever he was particularly catty or flashed those baby blues his way in a puppy dog, wide-eyed stare.

Steve, sensitive as he was, didn’t take very long to get to the point of huffing on every exhale. His speed increasing. His chest heaving. His blush dulling to a flush as all his blood pumped south, but Bucky’s sneer sends a chill of fear along the blond’s spine, and one word forces Steve to clamp his eyes shut and hold his breath with frustration.

“Stop.”

And Steve does, albeit begrudgingly. He continues to pant and heave, glossy eyes molding into something more akin to a death glare as they wait in silence. The sneers on Bucky’s face falls into a tight line, eyes moving from his friend’s face to trail down along his frail frame with interest. Steve thinks that  _ finally, _ Bucky will replace his hand with his own. That Bucky will finish him off. But Bucky simply flicks his steady glare upward to lock eyes with Steve again, and he chuckles breathily; darkly.

“Continue.”

And Steve does, albeit begrudgingly. Because he knows now what game Bucky is playing, and he isn’t sure he likes it … but he doesn’t  _ dislike _ it either.

His rhythm is awkward again to start, and Steve is frustrated that he has to do all this work all over again to get himself there again but he knows it’ll be worth it. Bucky always takes care of him in one way or another, and he’s never had a reason to distrust Bucky before; so why now? Because this was new, and fear of the unknown was something of a common occurrence for the sickly boy. Soon enough, however, Steve does find his rhythm again, and this time he knows what his goal is -- to make Bucky let him come. And if he knows anything, he knows what really gets Bucky going and what doesn’t. So, why not utilize his knowledge in a situation that really called for it?

Steve groans; guttural and deep, hips lifting a bit to arch his back and the hand that he had long forgotten about in his hair finally grips. Bucky idly glances at the fist in Steve’s hair, and the blond has to wonder whether or not Bucky is going to grab it in Steve’s place -- but his intense stare is back when Steve focuses on the other’s face, and he really plays it up. Groans again and arches in a way that beckons Bucky forth. Practically  _ begs _ him to bring Steve some sort of release. Relief. A higher-pitched noise leaves Steve’s throat, and Bucky shifts. Growls.

“Stop.”

“Bucky … fuck.”

A quirk of a brow and a more dominant stare: “Language, Steven.”

But Steve acquiesces. He releases himself with a flustered huff. On the verge of a fit. He’d thrown frustrated tantrums in the past, though that mainly involved his spouting off about what so-and-so did and how he can’t get away with it. This was entirely different, and Steve was feeling riled up enough that he might just go ahead and clock Bucky in the jaw if he doesn’t get to finish soon. But this isn’t what Bucky wants. Evident on the older boy’s face as he peers down at his friend with an air of superiority. Steve forces himself to calm down with a couple of deep breaths.

On  _ God _ , if anything turned Steve on most it was when Bucky was feeling all high and mighty.

“Continue.”

And Steve does.

It goes like this once more. Bucky watching intently as Steve brings himself to the edge.  _ Stop. _ A frustrated growl, a huffed out groan, a forced calm.  _ Continue. _ Bucky’s thoroughly enjoying himself, but Steve wants to rip those pretty eyes right out of Bucky’s stupid face, because he’s  _ dying _ and he doesn’t think he can keep this up for much longer. He doesn’t think his  _ heart _ can keep up with this much longer, let alone his asthma and fatigue. Bucky does take note of this, but he keeps it to himself. After all, he has always taken care of Steve. And he doesn’t intend to quit yet.

Steve’s  _ desperate _ now, begging under his breath for Bucky to do something. Jerk him off, touch him somehow. Hell, even just kissing him would send him over the edge right now, but as soon as Steve’s tone reaches a higher pitch, Bucky stands. Pulls his sweater off. Tugs his wife-beater down to fix some wrinkles and heaves a sigh. “Steve,” he says simply, almost bored as he breaks eye contact to glance out the small window of their shared bedroom. “Stop.”

And Steve does, though not without throwing out a few, “Fuck you, Bucky”’s to boot.

“I’m gonna get dinner started.” Bucky announces after a brief moment, a charming smile gracing his features again. It’s as if he had never been stern at all before -- like there was no chance of him ever having a stern bone in his body. Steve  _ snarls _ ; almost shouts at his friend as he begins to unlace his boots and toe them off haphazardly. There’s an obvious tenting in Bucky’s slacks, but clearly, he’s chosen to ignore it for the sake of continuing their little game later. At least, this is what Steve assumes. The blond snorts, turning his head away and tipping his nose up in a way that Bucky often mocks him for.  _ “Well, I do declare Miss Snooty. That’s just dastardly. Dastardly, indeed.” _

Steve has every intention of finishing himself off regardless, but just as he begins to stroke again, Bucky is on him in an instant. Legs on either side of Steve’s skinny hips, with hands gripping both of the boy’s wrists -- up, and against the creaky headboard.

“I  _ said _ …” Bucky leans down, kissing the blond’s forehead though he knows the danger lurking behind such a seemingly innocent action. “Stop. And if I catch ya even  _ thinkin’ _ about touchin’ yourself …”

Bucky trails off, but Steve can recognize a threat when he hears one. His answer is simply a challenging quirk of the brow. One that causes Bucky’s dominant act to slip just barely to mirror the action with an accompanying smile.


End file.
